Let Me Paint you a Picture
by fantasy elf queen
Summary: Castiel is an art student attending Asheville Liberal Arts an is a waiter/mechanic with something to prove to his dad.The two meet by chance and form a quick and close friendship.A simple story of two best-friends finding happiness and love.Rated M for language and lemons.Warnings-slash and smooch


**Was randomly looking up Adam Lambert on youtube and watched Better than I know myself. I'm not sure why the second I watched it I was like, Destiel fanfiction!But that's how my brain cogs work and here we go!**

Castiel Novak

The first time I saw Dean Winchester I thought damn, now there's a portrait just waiting to be drawn. I had moved with my stepsister from New York City to the small liberal arts town of Asheville North Carolina to attend college. Anna had dragged me down here so she could attend college with her long distance boyfriend. There were a billion art colleges between here and NY. For God's sake there were a million art colleges I would have LOVED to attend before this hippie Godforsaken place.

But Anna had begged, pleaded even, for me to tag along with her. She was into photography and not only did she want to be with her weird ass boyfriend she loved the Appalachian area for her pictures. I loved the city; I loved the smoke, the people, the filth and organized chaos of an entire world smashed into one city block. I was an artist, my pop art was based on the city life, on the garbage filled alleyways and chain smoking pedestrians. But God help me I loved my insane sister more than I loved the bustle of the big apple.

Oh the college was exactly as I'd thought it would be. There was this cacophony of hippies, druggies, "free spirits", pagans, typical artists and local college students. I didn't blend in too well, I didn't give a damn about trees and sharing the love nor did I care for the throngs of untalented artist and musicians that somehow believed they stood a chance. Others based their projects on a natural blend of the mountains and the vagabonds traipsing about downtown Asheville. I drew skylines and trashy brick walls decorated with art of another kind. I loved to sketch hunched shoulders on busted concrete steps and bone thin hands clutching cigarettes and the drying blood splatters against cobblestones.

I'd been out with Anna all day getting her to take photos of a spray painted building I'd found that had nearly sent me into conniptions from glee. My sister had a classical sculpting class that afternoon so I'd wandered through the throngs of dreadlocks, pot smoke and wailing guitar players littering street corners to find a coffee shop called the Wiggle Bean she'd recommended last week.

It was the usual college student lounge. It was a section of an old warehouse, brick walls and roughly worn wooden slat floor. There were dark leather chairs and couches placed around low tables near an unlit fireplace while in the farther corner metal tables and chairs that looked like they'd seen better day rested. Local artists' works were showcased along the walls and along the back wall was a glass bar and behind it the kitchens which were wafting a delicious smell.

I sat ungracefully at one of the metal tables and slung my leather bag into the chair beside me before pulling my sketchbook out at the site of an interesting character sprawled along a couch reading Mein Kampf of all things. I sat for a couple minutes sketching idly until I heard a woman yell from behind the bar.

"Dean get your ass out here you got a customer!"

I continued to sketch until I felt a cool rush of air from an approaching figure before I glanced up from my charcoal smudged hands. Honestly I couldn't help but blink from surprise. I had grown used to the general appearance of either all natural fiber potato sack clothing or overly expensive hiker clothes with the usual twist that gave the hint of artist or shlumpy college student. But this guy made me suck in a breath at the automatic urge to draw, paint, sketch, just to copy his amazing appearance.

He was of a medium height and slim, not wiry but lean and corded with muscle. Honestly out of the corner of my eye I would have mistaken him for Adam Lambert. He had ink black hair which was jelled and tousled into a wild mess that half fell over his forehead and the other half was spiked into a disarrayed half assed Mohawk. He had sharp masculine black eyebrows both arched in a display of obvious boredom. He was obviously wearing contacts; one eye was amber gold while the other was an unnatural cobalt blue. Both startling eyes were outlined in a thin line of liquid eyeliner with a smoky smudged appearance dancing just underneath his eyes.

Both ears were pierced, one twice, the other just once. He wore a white t-shirt underneath a black button up with the collar popped up and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. But to my surprise he wasn't wearing skinny jeans, just a pair of well worn but equally tight levis with a pair of black leather extremely worn falling apart doc martens that had seen far better days. My eyes drifted to his hands which were roughly calloused, each finger decorated with one or more silver and black twisted rings and his fingernails were painted sharpie silver.

He shot me an annoyed look from my staring.

"Whatcha' want dude?"

"Just give me a black coffee and a slice of tiramisu."

He blew a bubble from his dark purple gum and clicked it between his slightly crooked teeth sharply."That all ya' want man?"

I arched an eyebrow."Would you recommend anything then?"

He popped another bubble and cocked his hip out slightly."Naw man, just wonderin"

I watched him raptly as he wandered to the gate at the back bar before he almost effortlessly hoisted himself over in a clean jump. Oh man he had great lines, and those eyes, God and that hair; I was itching to draw him. Oh but pencil wouldn't do, I bit my lip and resisted the urge to pull my inks out of my bag.

I distractively went back to my sketch till several minutes later he wandered back over and slid a mug of coffee and plate of dessert onto the table by my notepad. I vaguely noticed he didn't pay my drawing much mind but he was nice enough to avoid a disastrous spill, although, I cocked my head to the side, maybe some dark brown and amber splotches would add a cool layered effect. Hmmm…I'd like to try that for some grunge vintage ink pictures I'd drawn last week of a crumbling brick doorway and rotting wooden steps.

I cast my incredibly attractive waiter a smile.

"Thanks."

He gave me a very crooked smile before wandering back to the kitchen. I took a sip of my coffee, damn Anna wasn't joking, this was some dang good coffee. The tiramisu wasn't bad either but I was distracted now. I tried finishing my sketch of the wannabe Nazi in the corner but after a few minutes I huffed in annoyance and slid my sketchbook to the corner of the table. I drank my coffee for a few more minutes listening to the music playing from the radio before scrunching up my face, oh God, was that Josh Groban?

I gave a sigh before my eyes danced over to the counter to reveal my waiter leaning against the glass and nudging one of the stacked brownies on a plate idly with a toothpick looking very bored.

"Hey man, you busy?"

His gold and blue eye flicked over to me although his expression didn't change.

"Dude, do I look busy to you?"

My lip quirked, he sounded ready to smashing his head against the countertop.

"Would you mind if I drew you?"

One of his coal eyebrows arched impossibly high before he silently jumped the gate and slid smoothly into the seat opposite of me.

"Draw away man."

If I were Gabriel I'd be squealing and clapping my hands from the glee I was feeling. I quickly pulled my inks from my bag and my nicer sketchbook before flipping to a clean page.

"I'm Castiel by the way, Castiel Novak." I noticed his eyes focused sharply on my coffee mug but he held perfectly still as I began to sketch lightly with a pencil.

"Dean Winchester, you always ask strangers to be your models?"

I chuckled. "Not unless they look like you?"

"So you find the strange ones."

I glanced up to see him smirking ever so slightly.

"I have a specific focus of what I draw; I'm more into urban, vintage art."

"Am I urban or vintage?"

I cracked a smile as I finished the sketch and screwed open the lid to my ink.

"I'm from New York, I like to draw people, just, anyone you'd see on the streets ya know."

He opened his mouth without moving an eyelash, I had to admit, I was highly impressed at his self control.

"I guess man, I'm not an artist."

We continued to make small talk while I worked quickly. Oh God I loved drawing him, I realized halfway through the portrait this was possibly the best thing I'd ever drawn. It was a dark sketch of Dean's face cast down at an angle with his wild hair a black bleeding splash across the paper. His eyes were obsidian, glinting from under the sharp, almost angry angle of his eyebrows.

I finished just as Dean let out a barking laugh from my story of how I viewed the general art school population.

"You seriously have it pinned down to 16 stereotypes?"

I capped my ink."I'm telling you, there's the goth/emo guy that always drops out after he finds out there's more to art then his pain and depression. There's the club hussy, the dirty guy, I'm telling you that's not hippy, we're talking pot head extraordinaire. There's the anime chick, the student 1.0, there's the snob fineart guy who's paintbrushes cost more than my car. There's the gamer and brownnoser, the hip hop guy and the environmental hippie goo roo. Then you have the guy that I swear to God is an alien, the old returning woman who's older then my mom, the metal guy and the trippin stressed dude. Then you finally have the bubbly chick that never shuts up and the average guy."

Dean gave me an amused look before he stood as the door opened with a jingle."Nice meeting you Cas."

I decided not to comment on the nickname. "You too Dean."

In the end I wound up returning to the Wiggle Bean almost every day for the next month. Sometimes Dean was there and sometimes he wasn't but when he was as soon as I sat down he was there with a mug of coffee and ready to sit as still as a statue for the next half hour for me. The little hole in the wall shop was never busy and Dean's coworker Joe never cared about his breaks.

There was more to Dean then just the general rocker dude look. I was shocked the first time he stumbled into the shop late with his hair wild at every angle and standing straight off of his head. But he'd been dressed in an ancient Def Leppard t-shirt and equally ancient pair of jeans and brown leather flip-flops. I'd blinked when I realized he wasn't wearing eyeliner or contacts, he had forest green eyes.

"Hey Cas, sorry I'm not made up for you to draw today man, Bobby kept me at the shop late to fix some dude's suspension." I knew Dean worked at a local auto body shop fixing vintage cars, he drove a black 67 Impala himself which he loved more than life itself.

If it wasn't for Dean's always constant personality and mood I would have suspected he had a split personality. I felt like I could almost draw a line down the two halves of him. On the one side was what I saw that first day. The coal liner and luminous eyes, this half of Dean loved screamo, black leather, coffee and classic literature and movies. This half got a dark gleam in his eye and a wicked smile and seemed to love violence. But then there was the other rarer half, the softer side. That side of Dean loved nothing more than 80's mullet rock, dark liquor, fixing cars and pie.

Sometimes I felt like he was two different people, but then he would say something oh so casual and I realized he was this strange intermeshing of both sides. As we grew to become friends I continued to draw Dean, especially as I waded deeper into school and my classes required experimentation of different styles.

~oOo~

Time began to pass and I soon found myself best friends with none other than Dean Winchester. A year had passed in art school; the fall semester had just started of my sophomore year. After a year of school I'd found my circle of close knit friends. There was of course Anna and her ass of a boyfriend. But then there was Chuck, who I mentally categorized under the general stereotype of tripping freaking out art student. He was amazing with comic book work and was already halfway finished with his first work, a story about two brothers fighting Supernatural creatures. He'd based the one brother Jensen off of Dean, or at least, the mullet rock car fixing half of Dean.

Another good friend was Balthazar; an exchange student from England, he fell under the mental stereotype of snob but he was so good I easily forgave him of his vanity. Balthazar oil painted and his particular passion was classic Greek and Roman art, in a couple of years he'd be putting the masters to shame.

I had briefly met Dean's brother Sam a couple of times when he had visited. Dean loved Sam more than his Impala and that was saying something but Sam couldn't visit very often since he was in his freshmen year at Stanford at the start of his career to becoming a lawyer. Dean affectionately referred to him as his little prep school bitch.

As Dean and I had grown closer we'd moved on from just meeting in the shop to usually every Friday night Dean could be found sprawled on Anna and my shared couch drinking a mug of black coffee or a beer, whatever he was in the mood for that night. I was to my elbows on the floor in chalk pastels working on a project for my non-objective art class, no offense to the abstract guys but this crap was pointless to me. I had just finished my base layer when Dean emerged from the bathroom make-up less and noticeably lacking unnaturally colored eyes and rubbing a towel through his sopping wet hair. He collapsed onto the couch and took a deep gulp of beer while I sat back on my haunches and cast him a curious glance.

"Ya know that's only the second time I've ever seen you without the liner and contacts."

He distractively picked at some of his chipped blue nail polish."I'm guessing you have a point in saying that."Ever the observant one.

"I mean there's like these two halves two you, why?"

Dean finally paused in picking at his nail to glance up with a surprised look flashing in his eyes.

"Oh, I dunno, after I left home a few years ago my dad told me I could do anything with my life as long as I didn't turn into a dribbling drug crazed moron or a stupid fag. He didn't really mean anything by it, he had no clue I'd been thinking I was bi for the past year or so but it rubbed me the wrong way ya' know. It started off as just a sort of in your face thing."

I flopped back onto my ass forgetting the pastels littering the floor.

"I came home one day with pierced ears and I thought he was gona' pop something vital. Then I grew my hair out and ya' know." He gestured to his wildly disarrayed mop.

"I started wearing what all my rockstar kid idols did and it just kind of flowed from there. At first I felt so weird, it was like this statement I was trying to make. But after a while I realized I wasn't trying anymore, I dunno, I like it. It's not like I go around wearing lipstick and heels, even I have my limit." He made a face.

"I never realized it was so obvious the two weird sides I have."

I grinned."Oh yeah, I've had a mental chart for the past year categorizing the two halves."

He threw his head back against the arm of the couch and laughed.

"Dude you are so weird."

I threw a handful of chalk at him.

It would be another two months before I realized I was in love with Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester

"Let me get this right man, you became friends with an art student! Dude I thought you HATED art students!"

I crushed my phone in-between my ear and shoulder as I pulled my knee closer to my chest to reach my nail with the silver coated brush I had clamped in my hand.

"Dude I hate hippie art students and those dipshits that think their better than everyone else. Cas is different."

"CAS?! Oh we're on nickname basis are we?"

"Shut up bitch he's my friend."

"Uhuh, how is this Cas different?"

"I dunno, he's an artist but he likes all the stuff we do, he's not trying to liberalize the world with his views and shove his crap down your throat…" I trailed off awkwardly while Sam chuckled.

"Righhhhht…"

I wouldn't have realized Cas was an artist the first time I saw him if it hadn't been for the notepad he had in front of him. Setting aside the fact that he was one good looking guy he'd looked like any guy I would have hung out with in high school. He had dark brown hair that half the time looked like he'd stuck his hand in a light socket, occasionally he had jell tousling the front.

He had a pair of the bluest eyes I'd ever seen; almost as blue as the contact I wore in my left eye. He'd sat hunched at a table wearing a tight fitting grey t-shirt, black jeans, worn chucks and a black cord necklace with a chunk of blue glass that matched his eyes. When he's so bluntly asked to draw me I couldn't help but feel a little flattered, ignoring the fact that I didn't like art students.

And we'd hit it off so well, Cas had been everything I wasn't expecting. He hated the whole art student scene and stereotypical college student image. He had his odd quirks, sure he loved the typical music, he had one of the broadest likes in genres I'd ever seen, one day he'd be humming Linkin Park or Greenday, another and he was bellowing classic Broadway show tunes since he'd been to almost every one showcased in New York. He loved weird Irish folk music and some band called the Irish Rovers and he had almost every major movie soundtrack on his ipod. He loved to read but he wasn't the typical snobby I'm smarter than thou college art guy that was shoving obscure shit you'd never even heard of before in your face.

Some days his nose was buried in Tolkien, others he was reading history memoirs or crime thrillers and on the occasional day you'd see him sneaking around Star Wars and Star Trek series since it was his greatest guilty pleasure. He was a movie junkie and could nearly quote every episode of Friends. But then he'd turn around and geek out over the newest Doctor Who episode, which I could fully admit he had completely gotten me into.

At first I couldn't understand how he was so thin when all I ever did was see him eat but I discovered he wasn't much on salty foods but had the biggest sweet tooth in the world. He didn't give much of a care about his clothes or hair but he was ocd about keeping his face and teeth clean. The first time I'd seen his bathroom counter I'd thought all the skin products were Anna's.

It had been an extremely long day, that morning some dipshit had brought in a 68 mustang with a stripped transmission and had nearly blown a gasket over what it was gona' cost. If the dumbass didn't even know getting a transmission fixed was expensive he didn't deserve to own a nice car. After that it had continuously gone downhill. My afternoon continued to grow worse after I clocked in late at the Wiggle Bean because my baby had suddenly started whining and I didn't dare drive her above 40. Joe had nearly blown her top and some idiot had spilt their boiling coffee down my front.

I gave a weary sigh as I unlocked the dorm door. "Man break out the hard stuff tonight it's been a tough day."

Cas sat cross legged on his and Anna's couch balancing a plate of Oreos on one knee and a can of coke on the other while he sketched on the notepad in his lap. He glanced up to shoot me a look full of sympathy before ducking his head back down. Ahhh, he was in one of his moods, I'd learned the difficult way that when Cas was in the zone he was in the zone.

I dropped my bag unceremoniously onto the floor before heading for the kitchen, kicking off my beat up converse on my way. As I ducked underneath the sink to retrieve a bottle of vintage whiskey, some gift from Anna's asshole of a boyfriend, as Cas referred to him, I noticed the tv was blaring the sudden noises of tanks and mortar shells and men screaming obscenities. I popped my head above the counter.

I took a swig of the whiskey that cost more than my monthly rent and plopped onto the couch beside Cas and slung a leg over the armrest. I took another deep gulp before I glanced over to see a heavy charcoal drawing of a man in WWII combat gear holding another man in his arms. The one man lay limp while the man clutching him in his arms held his head cast down and there was a dark grief stricken look on his face. My stomach clenched from the raw emotion, man I was growing a vagina.

"Jesus Cas, what's got you in such a cheerful state?"

"It started off less grim, I was halfway finished before I realized one had died."

That's how it was a lot of the time with him. Before I'd met Cas I thought artists always had their art all planned out and that they knew exactly how it would look from the start. But with Cas half the time he didn't know what he was drawing and the other half he was surprised at the outcome, like he didn't know the story behind the picture anymore then I did.

"Did you have a good day at least?"

"I was called in to talk to the board today, Miss Lexon recommended me for the senior show. It would seem my senior project is to be showcased at the Gala next spring."

I nearly spewed whiskey everywhere as I sprang up from my sprawled position.

"Cas that's AWESOME!Dude, this is so great!"

He looked up from his charcoal smudged hands and gave me a delighted smile."I don't have a clue what my project should be on."

I jumped from the couch and started pacing, whiskey forgotten." Dude you so know what to do! Ya' know how last semester in that weird abstract class you took you said you loved all that layering shit with different stuff. And you love to do all that cityscape and vintage look and ink. Why not combine it all together ya' know, paint with the watercolors like you've been doing and do all the layering and the ink and…" I trailed off and rubbed my neck while grinning.

Cas had this shit eating grin on his face and I could see this spark in his crazy blue eyes.

"Dean you just might be a genius. You're amazing."

And that's when it hit me, I loved this guy. There he was sitting on the couch still somehow balancing the plate of Oreos and the coke while he was up to his elbows in charcoal. His hair was all ruffled and standing on end like it usually was after he'd been working on something and he sat for a while thinking while he drug his hands through his hair. There was a dark smudge of led along his right cheekbone and he was wearing a pair of jeans so worn they looked stone washed, a ratty old Hershey's t-shirt and a pair of blue and grey striped socks.

I don't know why it just suddenly hit me out of nowhere. I guess I'd known for a while; there was no one besides Sam that I cared for this much. He could be so weird sometimes with his crazy Irish music and his tendency to get obsessed with his art. Hell I hadn't even liked art before I met Cas. Now I would find myself going to shows with him and arguing why I liked the impressionists better then the postimpressionists, I hadn't even known what the hell that meant two years ago.

But Cas was so passionate it just drew me in, the way he talked about the passion and life in his work was how I thought of working on all those vintage cars. He was such a dork, when I stopped by his apartment he was always drawing or sketching something but in the background the tv was always on, before Cas I hadn't known what the hell the Big Bang Theory was or Doctor Who or every other sci fi and fantasy show out there. But then he'd turn around and have Frank Sinatra playing from his ipod or when I was over he'd often switch it to classic rock, something we both loved.

It was all this and a million other things that smacked me in the face all at once. I loved the way Cas would read to me while I laid on the couch and painted my nails. I loved the way his forehead would scrunch up when he thought something was distasteful, usually the resident hippies. I loved the way his bottom lip jutted out and he pouted when he was drawing. I loved that when I crashed on his couch he'd always wake me up with a pillow over the head and a "wake up bitch" before he'd reveal a pot of expensive coffee and stacks of pancakes. I loved that he literally cringed at the sound of a pencil squeaking against paper and that he loved the bottoms of his feet tickled.

I loved his permanent sex hair and luminous eyes. I loved his thin wiry frame, his broad shoulders and hard planes and thin, sharp hips. I loved the way his ancient jeans that could rival mine hugged his ass and hung from his hips. I loved his smell, a mix between his natural musk and art supplies. I loved and hated that when he bent over or licked his lips or moaned or whimpered I was rubbing my neck and thinking of Bobby and road kill and unwashed hippies.

I loved him…shit,I was in love with my best friend. My life had suddenly turned into a bad romance movie.

Cas…1 year later

I sat back on the floor and cocked my head sideways before hmming and moving the canvas onto a spare easel to dry. As it turned out, this year's gala was themed for urban art and Miss Lexon had bent over backwards to make sure my art was the spotlight of the exhibition, meaning I had to finish my 25 pieces by next month. In a way my pieces were art in themselves but one of the main themes of my presentation would be how I arranged all 25 canvases on the wall to create one giant canvas as a whole.

Most of the paintings were small, roughly the size of my normal sketchbook paper but ten of the canvases were larger, 3 being the central pieces I was working on. I was so nervous it was possible I'd be sick for the next month. The gala wasn't even what I was so worried about, of course there were some nerves there, I was more nervous of my subject matter.

After Dean's amazing speech I had felt incredibly inspired of the style of art I was going to use for my pieces. For most of my pieces I was creating cityscapes, these composition pieces with oil paint on canvas that I layered and layered. For other pieces I laid a base down of charcoal before I layered with coffee staining and ink. But for my three main pieces, my subject matter was Dean. For my largest painting I had worked for the past six months to perfect the piece. It was a darkly cast three quarters angle of Dean looking down. I had used harsh brushstrokes and heavy paint and layered till the paint was so thick on the canvas it was ridiculous.

It was dark swirling colors of blacks, grays, purples and blues. His eyes were shadowed darkly and the only splash of bright color was his yellow and blue eyes. For the other two portraits I had chosen the base of charcoal and the layering of staining and ink. His eyes were black and coal rimmed, his eyeliner deeply defined while his inky hair spiked out and ran in running rivulets down the canvas from where I'd purposefully splashed ink across the canvases.

I wasn't even that nervous about the art itself, I felt like it was the best I'd ever come up with. I was dreading Dean's reaction. I had realized I was in love with Dean nearly two years ago during my sophomore year. It hadn't been this large smack of realization or this real defining moment. I just woke one morning and thought damn…I'm in love aren't I? But the funny thig was it wasn't a problem.

I didn't feel this great strain because of it and nothing grew awkward between us. He was my best friend after all. I wasn't constantly pining after him or mourning or anything of that matter. For all I knew Dean was attracted to me and would have gladly dated me, he was bi after all. But I didn't want to risk our friendship, what would happen if things went to hell when we dated. I wouldn't just lose my partner; I'd lose my best friend. And that just sucks on an entirely different level.

For sure there were many moments when I would have given a lot to just set down my sketchbook and say ya know Dean, what the hell, I'm in love with you. There were times when he'd come out of the shower wrapped in nothing but a towel hanging off his sharply defined hips and I'd take in his entire visage of rippling muscles and smooth skin and my mouth would water and I would long for him. Hell I'd lost count over how many times I'd woken up sweaty and covered in my own junk from having wet dreams like I was 15 all over again.

There was this empty space where I longed to touch him, kiss his porn star worthy lips and ask him to bend me over the couch and just fuck me already. My sexuality had never really been a main thought in my mind. I supposed I was bi but then I'd never woken up sweaty and covered in come from wet dreams of being rimmed and being fucked and every other thing imaginable until Dean came along. Still it wasn't really an issue, hell if he would me rather fuck him, that sounded like heaven too.

I was nervous because Dean's reaction would determine my future. If he wanted nothing more than friendship I was planning to move back to New York after graduation. It was home and I missed it so much I could taste it. But if Dean even had the flickering of a look in his eye that he wanted something more I was willing to stay. Dean had been saving for a couple years to open his own garage just for vintage hot rods and luxury cars and within the next two years he was going to finally live his dream. If he wanted me to stay with him I would, it just all depended on that one thing.

That night I laid sprawled along my couch half asleep watching the appendices for the Lord of the Rings. Dean had gotten me the collector's addition for my 22nd birthday. I mused, Dean's 24th birthday would be coming up in 6 months, he was an October baby. The door suddenly opened and Dean sidled in. He was currently make-up less and his natural green eyes glinted under his wet black hair. He wore a black Adidas hoodi and his favorite pair of jeans. In the past year Dean had begun wearing his getup less and less.

He lifted his arm to shake a bag."I brought PF Changs man." I instantly sat up grinning.

"Dude I will worship you forever."

Not long after we sat in the floor eating at the coffee table while LOTR played softly in the background. I was eating contently for several minutes before I realized it was unnaturally quiet. Dean was never quiet. I looked up to see his patented troubled face.

"What's wrong Dean?"

He sighed and gave me a lopsided smile, the one that meant he felt like a girl for admitting his feelings.

"It's just we won't be doing this in a couple months."

I stared at him in confusion for a few moments."Why not? You have a terminal disease or something?"

He rolled his eyes."It's just, Anna said your moving back up to New York after graduation."

I snorted, typical Anna."I haven't decided for sure yet Dean. There's a lot to offer both here and there."

His face darkened."So you're really planning on leaving, for good."

"Jesus Dean, even if I do move it's not like I'm moving to China or something. There is a modern convenience called airplanes."

I received a glare."You know what I mean asshole. If you go to New York you won't be coming back, you hate this place."

That wasn't true, it was at first. I had hated Asheville with a vengeance, all of its hippies and new age creeps and stereotypical art students. But after four years I had grown soft and felt rather fond of the place; even with all its unwashed masses. Hell I'd come to appreciate the mountains and outdoors too.

"Quit being a girl and eat your noodles."

1 Month Later

I tugged at my sleeve self consciously as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Anna appeared by my shoulder and gave a motherly smile and cooed.

"Oh you look so handsome, my little brother all grown up."I cast her a glare before returning my attentions to my reflection. I was dressed in a pair of black slacks and black shoes and I wore a cobalt blue dress button up shirt tucked into the pants. For once I had taken the time to jell my hair yet even so there were several rebellious strands already standing at a disheveled angle.

Anna kissed me on the cheek and shooed me out the door, I needed to be at the studio early to have a last minute meeting with the board. When I arrived at the modern art exhibit center there was already a small amount of people milling about dressed nicely and drinking champagne. I swallowed thickly before heading for the meeting.

I'd been offered a contract by the city of Asheville. I wandered back into the main exhibit area in a slight daze. I bumped into Chuck who gave me a wide eyed look.

"Cas your piece, it's….wow, amazing man, there just aren't words."

Anna soon found me with her asshole boyfriend, I really needed to learn his name…Marcus, no, Michael, that's right. She had tears in her eyes as she hugged me. No one had seen my piece yet.

"Oh Cas it's so beautiful, you did good." She pulled back to give me a look. "I mean you did **real** good."

I milled about and socialized. I thanked so many people who came up and congratulated me on my brilliant piece and what a talented uprising artist I was. It wasn't a failure, some of the nights' nerves dissipated but there was still a queasy lump in my stomach. I hadn't seen Dean yet. The night wore on and I found myself walking by the wall featuring my colleague of canvases when I spotted a head of spiked black hair.

I nervously approached him to stand silently by his side as he gazed at the wall. He was wearing a respectable pair of slacks himself and a forest green button up. He didn't turn his head as he spoke.

"Christ man….you did fuckin' good." I cast him a sideways glance to see he was also make-up less before he turned to look at me."You incorporated the inks, from when we first met."

I grinned."I told you I loved to draw you."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly."Yeah but I never thought, never imagined I'd be part of your piece man."

I laughed."It was a surprise."

He cast me this indiscernible look before he bit his lip and looked up through his lashes to cast me a slightly shy glance."You can deck me for this later if ya' want."

Then he was wrapping one arm behind my shoulders and cupping my neck while his other hand found my hips. He leaned in so close that we were sharing each other's breath for a moment before he ducked his head down and swept his lips across mine. Kisses aren't supposed to feel like fireworks going off in your nervous system or like the entire room just lit up and grew 20 degrees hotter. They aren't supposed to make your soul sing or your entire being fill with lust and love and a million other things. That's supposed to only happen in bad romance novels and movies with no plot. But somehow it was happening to me and I didn't give a damn to say I'd just had my first perfect kiss and it was definitely cheesy romance novel worthy.

Dean took a sharp breath in through his nose and moved his hands up to cup my jaw while I slid my hands up his back to pull him in my his shoulders. His mouth moved against mine and then his tongue was there and oh God the room just grew way too warm. We drew apart with a wet smack and I gave a goofy grin while Dean's eyes could have lit up the whole building.

A throat cleared and I glanced over my shoulder to see none other than Sam Winchester standing awkwardly in a suit. I'd never actually met him in person, he'd been busy finishing his senior year and preparing for law school.

"Heya Dean."

Dean grinned and pulled the much taller Winchester in for a bone crushing hug.

"You little bitch; I should have known why you were asking all those questions about tonight."

Sam grinned."I couldn't help it, it was perfect timing after finals and you hadn't shut up about Cas for months so I thought I'd come intervene, seems like that's already taken care of though." Sam cast Dean an amused look while I stepped forward.

"Hey Sam, we've not officially met, as I'm sure you've guessed, I'm Cas." I had stuck my hand out for a friendly handshake before Sam unexpectedly pulled me in for a sideways hug.

"Nice to meet you too man."

The rest of the evening passed in a quick blur. I spent my expected amount of time milling about and discussing my art while Dean held a too warm hand against my back. I escaped as quickly as possible with our group of friends to stop by Toby's, a local bar. Our little group consisted of Chuck, Anna, her asshole boyfriend, Balthazar, and of course Dean and Sam. We'd dropped by for a few shots in celebration of my success and our near in the future graduation along with some greasy food.

I sat on a stool wolfing down a basket of fish and chips while Dean ate his burger and mooched my fries beside me when my cell rang. It was Gabriel. I answered the call and set the phone on the bar on speaker.

"Hey Gabe."

"Little Bro!Anna texted me the good news!"

"That the night wasn't a total failure?"

"Har,har, I heard you were the bell of the ball, I'll have to start calling you Cinderella." I could hear him smirking through the phone.

"Does that make you the ugly step-sister?"

"Awww good one bro, anyways, I can't talk long, just wanted to call and wish you congrats and let you know that I'll be down for your guy's graduations."

"Dude you seriously don't have to come."

"Don't feed me bullshit bro, I'm bringing a fog horn and there's nothing you can do. Anyways, gotta go, see ya in a couple weeks man!"

Sam leaned forward from Dean's opposite side and laughed.

"He sounds interesting."

I nearly choked on my gulp of beer as I snorted."If you want to put it mildly."

Dean meanwhile had placed his warm palm on my thigh for the night. As time wore on his hand seemed to be inching higher and higher. My pulse seemed to climb with the further elevation of his limb. He kept glancing at me up through his long gold eyelashes and quirking his lips up in a half shy smirk. It was strange how we were all joking around causing havoc as normal even though my entire world had changed.

The night finally drew to a close and everyone parted ways on the dully lit sidewalk outside the bar. Dean had an arm casually slung around my shoulders as he took a last pull from his bottle of beer. Sam shot us both an amused glance and jingled a set of keys.

"Well I'd normally be crashing at your place but I'm gona head for a hotel tonight man."

We didn't even bother to argue. We climbed into Dean's precious Impala and he started the engine.

"So…we going to my place?"

I shot him a look."No, I'm going to cry about how I need time and that I'm not sure if we're ready for this step in our relationship yet."

To his credit he ignored me with a happy smile and popped his favorite Metallica tape into the cassette player. When we arrived at his loft Dean pushed me up against the hood of the car and kissed me long and slow. When we pulled apart I was breathing deeply through my nose and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. He chuckled against my lips and blew a gust of breath over them before licking a long stripe to open my bottom lip.

When we finally managed to pull apart my hands had found their purchase on Dean's perfect ass while Dean had large handfuls of my crazy hair. We finally managed to make it through the front before Dean slammed me against the door and he was leaving a trail of hot wet open mouthed kisses down my neck. I groaned and hiked a leg up to wrap around his hips and hook behind his back. I suddenly felt the perfect amount of friction and we both moaned together.

I yanked Dean's hair to bring his lips away from my collarbone that he seemed fascinated with to meet my lips harshly. I gasped and gripped his hair tightly while Dean began rocking his hips slowly in a steady rhythm. It was like jolts of electricity zapping down my spine with every push, every grind I was arching and moaning like a two dollar whore.

We eventually managed to tear each other's shirts off and I couldn't help but fall to my knees and lick up his well toned chest. That didn't last long before Dean was shoving my pants and boxers to my ankles and shoving me so high against the door my legs easily wrapped around his waist. I somehow managed to tear his pants off and then it was glorious skin against skin.

With every arch, every slow slide and grind there was that aching and thrumming of pleasure. Sweat was glistening along both of our chests and back and Dean's midnight hair was starting to plaster to his forehead. Oh he was such a beautiful site. His hair was soaked yet disheveled from my constant tugging. His eyes were glazed and his pupils dilated to reveal only a thin circle of green. His lips were swollen and spit slicked and they shined in the dull light of his apartment.

His skin was gleaming from sweat and his nipples peaked and a beautiful dusky pink. There was a deep rosy blush along his neck and pecks and his cock hung heavy and weeping between his legs. Oh God was a beautiful picture he was, that was a painting forever seared into my mind.

We somehow managed to find ourselves on the floor by Dean's bed as he ground down on me while his hand searched blindly in the bedside table for lube. The only sound in the room was our panting and moans and my embarrassingly loud keens and Dean's low throaty, almost animalistic groans.

Then a lube slicked finger was rubbing against my hole and pushing in with a dull pressure. Then there were two and with it came a pleasant sting and aching stretch that made my dick jump and ooze precome. Then he was wiggling around three fingers and he found my prostate and my back was nearly bent in half as I arched off the floor and pressed my heals into the hardwood and moaned.

Almost instantly his fingers were replaced with something much better and I was clutching at his shoulders while he pulled my hips up with one hand and balanced himself on his other elbow above me. Sweat dripped down his nose onto my chest as we rocked together and Dean was panting out a string of incoherent words like

"Jesus Cas, Oh my Fuckin' God, Chriiiiist."

It wasn't either of our first times. But I was glad for that. My first time had been in 11th grade with Jamie Henly after 6th period in the gym showers. It was my first and it could have been worse but it was by far my most pleasant experience. We'd both hinted at the subject and new of several vague past trysts the other had had. But who cared about past conquests and drunken fumblings at stupid frat parties and good sex but never great sex.

Sex with Dean, great wasn't quite the adjective. Maybe mind blowing or spectacular of fucking phenomenal.

It took a slightly embarrassingly short amount of time before I was nearly screaming and coming so hard I thought my brain was going to explode. But then Dean was shuddering and growling and coming seconds after me so any embarrassment disappeared quickly. We both collapsed, exhausted and covered in sweat, spit and come. I laid still for several moments feeling my heart begin to slow before Dean panted out.

"Dammmmmmn."

I suddenly propped myself up on one shoulder to peer at his dazed yet sated face.

"So not to utterly ruin the moment with cheesiness but if I don't say it I'll be kicking myself in the morning."

Dean was suddenly sitting up with a serious face."Is this about New York?"

I made a confused face."What?No, why are you so stuck on New York man? Look, you've been my best friend for 3 years and…"

Dean's face turned panicked."You aren't gona' fuckin' say this was a mistake are you? Because I love you man, I can't handle that!"

I stopped and laughed while rubbing a hand through my soaked hair and over my eyes before sighing.

"Dean, that's what I've been trying to say you dumbass, I love you too."

He grinned."Oh, well that makes things easier…so no New York."

I groaned and flopped back onto the floor."Jesus Christ Dean, no New York, the board offered a contract on behalf of the city for me so I'm staying here."

I was suddenly being smothered by an armful of Dean while he hurriedly kissed the underside of my jaw and neck while murmuring.

"Thank fuckin' Christ, do you know how freaked out I was about that!"

Epilogue

5 years Later

I sat back against the counter and frowned while cocking my head to the side before glancing at the clock on the wall. Damn, I was late. I quickly rinsed my hands under the sink and grabbed the keys to my 1969 Chevy Camaro. God how Dean and I had fought about that car. I'd insisted I didn't need anything so ridiculously frivolous. He'd wanted me to get the old hunk of junk just for an excuse to fix it up himself. But in the end I loved it almost as much as he loved his Impala.

It was only a 10 minute drive to the shop before I hopped out of my baby and headed inside. I grinned and gave a wave to Ash who was currently trying to talk to a customer. He gave a friendly wave back before I opened the door to the garage. I was greeted by the sound of an old black radio balanced precariously on a chair blaring Pour Some Sugar on Me. I grinned and walked around the corner to see a pair of leather work boots poking out from underneath a black 1966 Chevrolet Chevelle. God I could identify the year of muscle cars now just by looking at them, Dean was getting to me.

I watched his feet bounce to the song as Dean bellowed out from underneath the car.

"I'm hot sticky sweeeeeeeeeeet, do you take sugahhhhhhhh, one lump or twoooooooooo."

I busted out laughing and he quickly wiggled out from under the car at the sound of my voice. I gave him an appraising once over. He was currently shirtless and glistening with sweat and wearing a pair of very low riding jeans. He had gotten quite tan this summer working at his garage. He smirked at my appreciating glance and ran a hand through his short hair.

God it had thrown me for a loop when Dean had finally decided he was ready to go back to his normal hair. After I met his father and they both had a deep heart to heart, of what they talked about I never discovered, he had announced he was ready to quit looking like a punk rocker. At first I'd been disappointed; he was my muse after all. But after he'd let the dye grow out and he'd gotten a short spiky hair cut it grew on me. He was a deep golden blonde from the sun now and he had a smattering of freckles sprouting up and a deep sun kissed glow.

"Hey babe, ready to go meet Sam?"

My only answer was a deep kiss involving a lot of tongue and a hot sweat soaked torso pressed against mine. I chuckled and finally detached myself.

"Yeah I'm ready to go."

Today was Sam's 26th birthday and we were heading out for celebratory drinks at our favorite bar.

After Sam had graduated from law school he had made the unexpected decision to move to Asheville to be near Dean. Our usual Friday night drinking group now consisted of Chuck, Ash, Anna and her now asshole of a husband and Gabriel when he visited, which he did, quite often now that he seemed to be pining after Sam.

A year after Anna and I had graduated Dean had finally opened up his own garage and was basking in the glow of his own success. I'd taken the commission with the city and was always busy creating urban murals for community centers and such, when I wasn't working on my own personal collection of course.

Life wasn't perfect, Dean and I had broken up a year after we'd started dating because of stupid mundane things before I'd gone knocking Dean's door down because I could live without my boyfriend but I couldn't live without my best friend. Dean hadn't proposed yet which was getting pretty annoying but I wasn't too worried about it.

We didn't argue a lot which I was grateful for and when we did there was always the really great violent make-up sex. Neither of us were perfect, far from it. I tended to get too involved and obsessed with my projects and Dean sometimes spent too much time at the garage. But we were both incredibly happy.

Happy because we weren't just a typical in love couple. Dean was my best friend, so when he came home we'd sit on the couch and watch Star Wars and Psych and How I met Your Mother or we'd do crazy shit together that we knew we'd both regret because we were adults and we had a lot of stupid irresponsible ideas, like trying to create smoke bombs or playing truth or dare.

Some nights we'd lay on the couch and I'd read Game of Thrones to Dean because he loved the books but didn't have the attention span to read them himself. Some nights he'd tickle my feet while we listened to sports podcasts or music or whatever.

A lot of the time Sam would be over and sometimes the whole gang would come to hang out, even Joe, Dean's old buddy from the coffee shop. We'd play poker and get too drunk and wake up wondering what the hell we'd done the night before.

I still loved to paint Dean; I think he got annoyed with my constant sketching and drawing sometimes. But sometimes he'd willingly lay naked somewhere while I painted and painted until he'd finally get bored and draw me to the bed for "better things then fuckin' drawing Cas, I'm naked for God's sakes."

And life wasn't perfect but I was in Love with my best friend and he loved me back, so it was damn near as close as it could be.

The End

**Sooooooo, this story turned out nothing like I'd planned it out to be. I'm a little disappointed because I'd set out for it to be really dark and steamy but somehow in the middle the focus switched from Dean looking like Adam Lambert to Castiel's art projects. But I couldn't stop and it wound up being the smoochiest sappiest thing I've ever written.(Hangs head in shame)**

**Anyways, Cas's art style and projects are based off of the painter Jeremy Mann, go look him up, seriously, he's beyond words amazing and my favorite artist, the guy is amazing.**

**I'm sorry for any people out there mastering in art. I'm sure you can tell I am not an art expert, anything I knew was from my own random knowledge and two years of high-school art class…which isn't much.**

**Please Review and tell me what you think!Love it hate it?I'm a little paranoid about his fiction because I've never written anything so fluffy before, I'm more of a war and blood and angsty violent sex kind of girl.**


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